


i wish i could make you somebody else

by blue000jay



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Arranged Marriage, Kingdomstuck, M/M, and the fashion choices, i care more about the aesthetic lets be honest, i might throw in some other shit too, johndave is endgame lbr, medieval politics, who knows!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26036569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue000jay/pseuds/blue000jay
Summary: A king is crowned, a treaty is signed, and peace must be forged by all.Which apparently includes being carted around like a player on a chess board, destined only to play until your relevance is discarded.
Relationships: Dave Strider & Dirk Strider, Dave Strider & Jade Harley, Dave Strider & Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider & Roxy Lalonde, John Egbert/Dave Strider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. introduction.

**Author's Note:**

> let's go heavy-handed on the politics folks. this is going to be my baby! i'm posting chapters as i please and they are really just rough outlines of how depth this world is in my head. i've got like 7 pages of lore on this shit already, and more to come. 
> 
> characters and tags will be added as mentioned, since i'm not quite sure how i'm ending this yet/who will pop up as i go forth! the rating could change as well, wink wink.

introduction.

_. 18 years before ._

* * *

The soft clink of her heels echoed as she made her way down the hall, cool marble giving way under her feet as the mandatory pack of guards followed. They made noise too, the shuffle of armor and weaponry, the hushed noises of their thoughts as they stared around the palace halls, trying to get their bearings in a place so foreign. The woman leading them was less hesitant; her steps were as sure as she could make them, lining each and every perfect step up with the delicate patterns encased in black and white on the floor. She finally came to a rest, her entourage still behind her as she halted before a door nearly twice as tall as she was, and more than four times as wide.

Without any preamble, the doors swung open, and in she went. Two guards remained outside as the rest of them followed her in, and laid their gazes upon the man in the throne on the other side of the room.

“You’re killing my people.” The words cut like glass through the air, breaking the tension between the two before she even approached the chair where he was sitting. Cold amber eyes met her own warm green, but any trace of the person she thought she knew was gone.

“And what about it?” The question wasn’t just aimed at her, but at the knights behind her as well, and himself. They all knew it, and it was evident by the way the woman’s shoulders bristled, stiffening up as the golden drapery refused to give way to her movements quick enough. “The suffering of peasantry is hardly a concern of noble lineage.”

“It is when you are involved, Broderick. You are killing my people. What have you done? Crossed the borders, the treaty we signed? I thought this cruelty was over with.” Her arms crossed over her breast and she kept her stare on his, not glancing away at any point. A staring contest was the least of her concern. She watched as his head tipped to the side, leaning his cheek against his fist in a flagrant display of arrogance.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want peace anymore,” he said, shrugging a bit and making his own head bob a bit. The woman’s fists clenched even harder, nails biting into her palms as she stood her ground and refused to look away.

“And who put that idea in your head? Him?” A gesture, her hand flying out to point toward the smirking man beside the other regent. “He’s poisoning you, Dirk! He poisoned poor Rosanna, may she rest with dignity. He’s orphaning your children.”

“He did no such thing. I did.”

The silence of the room was striking, and the astonished look the queen gave him was slowly morphing into resentment. “.... you what?”

“I did. Rosanna disagreed with my movements upon Prospit.” Broderick stood from the throne, making his way over to a table to their left. He leaned over it, hands braced to either side as he stared down at the pieces delicately laid out across the board. “So I simply removed her from the equation. Callum had nothing to do with it.”

“Although, I did provide the equipment, my lord.” The smirking man from before, Callum, piped up. He was silenced by a sharp glare from the king, and raised a brow before looking away and down.

“Hemlock is not hard to come by. Shut your mouth.” King Broderick turned his gaze back toward the Queen, watching as she slowly made her way over to the table and board. Her nose wrinkled and in a flash she reached down, striking her hand across the small squares of white and black and scattering the pieces side to side. A few fell to the floor, scattering and bouncing along the stone.

“You’re bastards, the lot of you. Sick bastards! I should’ve known Dersites were bound to be up to no good-”

“I’m doing the right thing, Josephine. Prospit will thrive more than ever under a Dersite rule and if that means taking it from your hands by force, then I shall.”

“I’d like to see you try, you bitch of a king.” Josephine leaned forward over the table, eyes glinting as her voice lowered to a dangerous, soft register. “Prospit will never fall, and I will see to that. Your head will be the one on a pike at the end of this war. I will not suffer my children or grandchildren to be complacent in a fight that you insist on continuing out of arrogance and pride. Hear me now, Broderick Strider: stop this foolishness and call back your army, or regret it.”

Broderick observed her with a cool eye for a moment, meeting her gaze with a seeming indifference. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, before he shifted and leaned backward, away from her. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lady,” he said, before turning to slip out from behind the table.

Her eyes narrowed, and a moment later her sword was drawn and at his throat, balanced in the hollow below his Adam’s apple with care precision.

“I said, call back your army,” she said through gritted teeth. His eyes never left hers, not even as his own fingers twitched slightly, the noise of swords being drawn throughout the room as guards on both sides bristled.

“Do not start this here,” he said, fingers twitching once more. The ginger in the corner snickered slightly, before wiggling his own right back toward the king. The movement didn’t escape Prospit’s queen, but she just simply pressed the point of her broadsword more firmly into the soft skin at his throat. “You will not leave if you do.”

“Is that a threat, your majesty?” She asked, words filled with vitriol.

“I do believe it is.”

Josephine stared at him, glancing only once to watch the small bead of blood at the hollow of his throat bob as he swallowed, then adjusted her grip and pulled the sword back. Maybe that was her fatal flaw- a kindness too broad and widespread to kill the king of Derse and leave the country in shambles, leaving a five-year-old as king. Her arm hung by her side for a moment, the tip of her sword scraping the ground as she stood there and stared at the man she had thought she’d gotten to know over the past few months of work. Everything she’d fought for was coming apart in her hands, and for a moment she was stricken helpless. What could she do now except fight? Making it out of this palace alive was going to be a challenge, much less surviving the war that Broderick insisted on continuing.

Josephine set her teeth and let out a breath, lifting her sword to sheath it in its place at her hip. “Then I have no reason to be here anymore,” she said, taking a few steps backwards from the king and then turning, guards falling into place at her side.

“Say hello to my wife for me,” the king said with a slight smile, his tone making Josephine pause and turn her head back over her shoulder to look at him. Her braid fell against her back, too many streaks of grey dotting it for how young she really was. Her guards raised their weapons again, and her own hand found her weapon. She never got the chance to draw it.

Callum’s fingers twitched and the guard holding the crossbow fired, aim true. Her majesty fell.


	2. homecoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i die for sibling energy between these 4, hooooly shit.

homecoming.

_. in which a king is murdered ._

* * *

Dirk takes another bite of toast, and doesn’t react to the words hanging in the air.

“Your majesty?” The counselor’s voice cuts through his inner monologue, something long winded and not worth putting into words. He looks up finally to the woman beside him, before setting down his breakfast and raising a brow. She swallows, then glances away.

“Take me to him,” he says quietly, pushing his chair back as he stands and following the woman out of the room.

* * *

The bird lands on her shoulder, crowing into her ear with the loudest noise she swears she’s ever heard. Well, that’s a lie. Parties can get pretty rowdy, especially on Candlenights. But this is different. The sounds are different- they make words, squirming into her head and making themselves known. These are the worms of ideas she knows, ones she can interpret. Without turning her head to the bird, she holds her arm up so it can move to sit on her arm instead of her shoulder, and caws again.

“You don’t say?” She asks, plucking a moonflower from where it sits on the vine, and crumbling it in her fist before adding it to the concoction currently by her feet. The bird crows a bit louder, then hops off her arm and onto the ground, caws once, then turns and flies off.

Roxanne sighs, watching it go, then picks up her mortar and pestle to head inside and find her siblings.

* * *

Rosaline looks down at the body of her late father in his bed, and rolls her eyes.

“He isn’t going to be buried next to Mother,” she says, voice firm, and beside her Roxy snorts.

“What, you think we’re even going to bury the bastard?” She asks, and Dirk reaches out to gently tap her arm and shush her. While the room is empty for now, there are still counselors coming and going, servants arriving to bring funerary preparations that none of them had made.

“He’ll be buried with other kings. Even if he was a shit one, he was still a sovereign,” Dirk says, glancing down at the body and then away again. “But not next to Rosanna, no.” Rose is not as squicky about the body and leans in, inspecting the corners of his mouth for a moment before reaching into her pouch at the side of her skirt. Beside her, she can hear her older siblings bickering slightly over the arrangements they’re going to have to make, but she focuses on her task at hand. Carefully, she wipes the remnants of drool and pink-tinged foam from the corners of her father’s mouth, then reaches out and shuts his bulging eyes. As she returns to an upright position, she turns to her now significantly quieter siblings.

“Fine, who cares how he’s buried, or how he died. He’s gone now, and that’s all that matters,” she says, nearly stuffing the handkerchief back into her pouch before grimacing, then making her way over to the still slightly-lit fireplace. In goes the soft cotton, quick to go up in flames as she watches the ash flutter upwards for a moment. “You’ll be king, Dirk.”

There’s a silence in the room for a moment, the soft noise of fire crackling being the only movement. Then, Dirk nods. “I’ll send for Dave.”

* * *

The letter arrives when he’s in the midst of a battle.

He only receives it afterward, letting his helmet clunk to the floor of his tent and peeling off layers of armor as he goes. When he’s finally out of his gloves and most of the metal adorning his skin, letting the scent of blood fade from his nose, does he allow anyone inside the tent with him. First is the general, still in his own armor and Dave can see the bandages below it.

“Your highness,” he says, bowing briefly before standing straight again. Most of the formality is lost on the battlefield and in the camp, where Dave makes himself known as a friend to their soldiers. But here, it’s something the general has insisted upon to Dave’s chagrin. “I think today was a fairly decisive victory- Prospit lost significantly more fighters than we did, for certain.”

With a sigh, Dave makes his way to the strategy table, plunking himself down at the head. He’s not good at it- strategy, that is. He can hold his own in a fight and rally troops, but anything beyond that isn’t really his specialty. He supposes he isn’t really important in that sense- just another foot soldier, sent off to die for the good of the many. “And how many did we lose, exactly?” He asked, glancing up at the general before back down at the map on the table. The general gave no answer, which is just as well. “... we can’t win, not when we lose so many people each fight. We may have beaten Prospit this battle, but last week was worse for us, and next week is who knows what.”

“We have to keep it up, your highness,” the general says, grimacing slightly. “You know what we were ordered to do.”

Dave rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, letting an arm drape over the wooden arm. “Yeah, yeah, hold the eastern line together. And we are.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re winning the war, though.”

“Isn’t that the goddamn truth.”

“Your majesty-” Both men’s heads snap up and Dave’s hand is at his belt in a moment. The flustered-looking messenger in the tent doorway flushes; which is to say, he gets pinker than he already is. He’s out of breath, and holding out a small envelope. Dave gets up, moving to take the paper from him and turn it over in his hands. He notes the scrawl of his brother’s handwriting, and the delicate wax. “From the capital. Urgent. Your brother demands you read it right away, then return immediately.”

“My brother?” Dave moves his hand across the paper and slits the envelope open with his knife, moving back over to the table as he carefully takes out the letter addressed to him. As his eyes scan over the words, the messenger catches his breath and nods.

“Yes, your majesty,” he says, and Dave can feel his eyes on him as he takes in the information on the page. All at once, his stomach sinks and his heart lightens in tandem. The general seems confused and Dave knows, he can tell both of the other men in the room with him are wondering what’s going on, but gods below, he can’t stop himself from smiling. He finally looks up when he reaches the end of the letter, tamping down his smile into something more tame.

“Tell a few men to get some horses ready,” he says to the messenger, then turns to the general. “My father is dead. Long live the fucking king.”

* * *

The road back to the capital of Derse is long and cold, but his siblings are there to make everything warm again. He counts his steps off his horse before he’s hugged- he only makes it three before there’s the crush of arms around him and the soft scent of lavender. Roxy, then. He doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms up and around her in return, trying to ignore the way his armor pinces at his sides and how sore his ass is from riding so long and so hard. He just hugs her, and after a moment there’s another pair of arms wrapped around him from the back. More lavender, another sister.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe,” Roxy says right into his ear, and digs her hand into the back of his head to pull him down, into the crook of her neck. He lets it happen, burying his face into the cloth there before finally she lets go. Rose is still pressed up behind him and he turns, scooping her up in a brief hug as she scoffs and attempts to push him away.

“I didn’t miss you that much. Don’t make a scene, and you smell like horse and mud,” she scolds him, but doesn’t resist in any way that Dave knows she’s serious. He pulls away after a second, tugging his gloves off and working his fingers in and out to loosen them from holding the reigns of his steed all day.

“I have to make sure Crow’s stabled up,” he says, watching his sisters and then glancing over Roxy’s shoulder as she rolls her eyes, lets out a huff of breath.

“That fucking horse is still alive, then?” she mumbles, stepping out of the way as Dave makes his way over to his brother. They stare for a moment, Dave’s eyes searching Dirk’s for any sort of emotion at all. There’s none there for anyone who didn’t grow up with him, but Dave happened to do just that. After a minute, he holds his hand out for a shake and watches as Dirk raises a brow then reaches forward to reciprocate.

Grinning, Dave uses the leverage from his hand to pull him in for a hug, wrapping him up in his arms and ignoring the huffy and annoyed sighs he’s getting in return.

“I missed you too,” Dirk mumbles quietly, just loud enough for Dave to hear, and that’s enough. He lets go of his brother, taking a couple steps back and glancing at his siblings.

“So, we’ve got a lot to talk about, yeah?” He asks, and Rose is at his side in a moment’s notice. He’s urged to start walking so he does so, the two of them glomping through the mud at an impressive rate for a woman in flats and stockings and a man in nearly full armor still.

“Yes, we do,” she says, and Dave glances to his side where Dirk is now walking, Roxy on the other of Rose. She pipes up, snickering a bit.

“What, about how much Dave needs to get himself cleaned up? Hear it from us before anyone else- you smell, little bro.” The stablemen and women around them part as they walk, the grey sky above seeming to cast the whole of the palace and inner ward in a mourning light. He hasn’t been here in almost a year and a half, maybe two, Dave muses, and yet it seems more like home than it ever did before. Stone towers rise above them as they make their way inside, the cool air turning warmer as they go. As far as palaces go, theirs was fairly new. Just over a hundred years old, the stones show signs of age without having lived the years. Dave has spent almost two decades learning the place inside and out, and finding the best places to hide from siblings and tutors alike. He breaks away from Rose as they approach an intersection, moving to take the left hall instead of the right.

“I’ll meet you in the drawing room?” He asks, turning to walk backwards for a moment and look at them. Roxy nods, taking Rose’s hand and giving Dirk a look before the girls continue. Dave frowns for a moment, slowing his walk as Dirk does the same. He doesn’t wait for them to be out of sight before speaking, but still lowers his voice.

“What was it like before you left?” He asks, and Dave can hear how heavy the question has been laying on his mind. He lets out a breath, reaching up and slowly starting to unbuckle what he can reach of his armor to slip it off. He’s warm now, and it’s heavy. He needs a distraction while he thinks.

“Haven’t you been receiving reports?” He asks, shooting a question right back at him. Dirk scoffs a little, moving to the side of the hall with Dave following him there.

“You think he’d let me look at anything? I snuck what I could, but still. I’ve been flying blind for a while,” he says, and Dave hisses out a breath.

“It’s not good, Dirk,” he tells him, watching as his brother leans against the cold stone wall and presses his forehead against it. “It’s really, really not good. We’re losing. Bad. My units were keeping up okay, but everything I heard from the general… well, we’re fucking losing. It’s got to stop.”

“I’ve already sent a messenger out to Prospit. I did it the moment I heard about.. him. I asked for a ceasefire, told them about his death, expressed my wishes for an immediate truce,” he says, shutting his eyes for a moment. Dave takes the time to wonder how much sleep he’s been getting in the past week or so, catching up on all the duties their father wouldn’t let him actually have and look at. Weeding out the people loyal to their father, and those who will follow Dirk. He taps his fingers against the smooth metal of his armor, licking his lips as he tries to find the next right thing to say.

“... are you going to be okay?” The question comes out hesitant, and Dave isn’t sure what kind of answer he’s expecting. He knows Roxy and Rose are both going to be alright, but Dirk? Well, he’s never sure about him.

Dirk huffs out of his nose, lifting his head from the wall to peer right back at him. “Are you?”

Dave rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, good question. You got me. Maybe get me some good food and I’ll be able to answer it right after I get all this grime off of me,” he says, shoving his arm guards into Dirk’s hands. Dave stifles a laugh when he looks down at them in disgust, shifting to hold them more delicately than before. It’s so him- it makes Dave want to hug him again, which is fucking ridiculous and also not what they do. Fuck, he’s so tired from travel and needing a bed. He settles for bumping their shoulders together lightly, suppressing his smile as he heads down the hall.

“Eugh, yeah, okay,” Dirk says, and Dave can hear the shuffle of armor as he rearranges again. He himself keeps unbuckling, wanting to get everything off and feel warm water on his toes again. “Don’t be long.”

“I won’t,” Dave promises, waving him off as he heads down the hall to the nearest bath.

Two rinses, one sponge, and one bar of soap later, Dave’s feeling more normal. While he doesn’t mind the grime, it’s nice to be able to scrub in between your toes and bathe in something better than frozen mountain streams. His hair is finally soft again, too, which is honestly the best part of this whole thing. That’s most likely an exaggeration, but he’s never been anything but dramatic. Which is why he makes his entrance into the drawing room as extreme as he can, pushing open the door and making his way over to the nearest chair with a hand to his forehead. He can already hear Rose stifling her sigh of annoyance, but when he cracks open an eye she’s smiling.

“Tea!” Roxy shouts, popping up from the overstuffed chair she’d been perched on and leaning over the table, a cup in hand. “Tea for you, I’m already on my second cup and Dirk’s on his fifth, that’s how you know it’s bad.”

“It’s bad? Really? What ever makes you think it’s bad?” Dave asks, reaching out and gratefully taking the cup from his sister when it’s offered. She leans and presses a kiss to his forehead, and Dave doesn’t bother to wipe it away in favor of settling into the chair. It’s his chair, evident by the Dave-butt imprint from years of sitting, the other three having their own to sit in. Dirk is in his, leaning against the back of it and doing his best impression of a wide-awake person.

“Considering we’re on the losing side of a war-” he begins, only for Roxy to cut him off with a flap of her fingers in his direction.

“Shush, shush, none of that right now. None of anything. It’s the first time in two years we’ve all been in the same room, at the same time, in happy moods. Relatively happy. We’re going to savor this, as a family,” she declares, clapping her hands together and looking around the room. Rose sighs from her own seat, feet delicately up on the cushion and ringed fingers cupping her own steaming cup.

“Savor the fact our father’s dead?” She asks, and Dave thumps his head against the back of his chair as Roxy groans.

“That is the kind of bullshit we will not be discussing, Rosie!” She says, pointing a finger in her direction before flouncing back to her seat. It’s a fight she knows she’s going to lose, and Dave decides to just hit home.

“That’s the whole reason I’m back, though. That bullshit. How’d he kick it, anyway?” He asks, picking his head up and finally dipping down to blow across the surface of his drink, sip gently at the water. It hasn’t fully steeped yet, but it’s better than anything he’s tasted in a while. He mouths a ‘thank you’ across to his sister as Rose stirs her tea with a finger, shrugging.

“According to the doctor, natural causes,” she says, looking down into her mug and then tipping it back to drain it.

Dave’s brow wrinkles. “That’s not what-”

“Natural causes, Dave. He was old, and getting weaker,” Dirk says, cutting him off and shaking his head slowly. Dave taps his fingers against his cup, the clink of his nails echoing through the room.

“He was sixty, and in relatively good health. You really think people are going to believe it was natural causes? And the court?” Rose is studying her cup intensely as Dave shoots back at Dirk, slight annoyance rising in him. “Hell, does the good doc even believe it was?”

“He better, after how much we paid him,” Roxy grumbles, and Dave thumps his head back against his chair again. There’s a silence in the room, then Rose speaks up and makes Dave crack an eye open from where he’d shut them.

“We can only hope things go into motion the way we hoped. Dirk’s done his part and is doing his part. Ours come next,” she says, reaching out with one hand toward Dirk. He hums, reaching out to take her hand and give it a soft squeeze. Dave watches, shutting his eyes again after a moment.

“Do you really think Prospit will want to draw up a treaty?” He asks after another moment of silence.

Roxy hums. “Economically, it’s not in their best interests. Let’s put it this way: they know they’re winning. We killed their queen, King Dorian’s mother. He’s most likely still angry and if I were a pessimist, I’d say that there’s a slim to none chance that they’ll say yes.” She pauses, then smiles. “But I’m an optimist. I think they will, given that we handle this correctly.”

“Everything I’ve seen says that we’ll get lucky,” Rose cuts in, and Dave nods a bit. His eyes are so heavy, goddamn. He can tell Dirk’s about the same as him, locking eyes with him for a second and then giving him a short smile. He raises his tea to his lips, glancing over at his sisters again after having tuned them out for the moment.

“-thankful for the chance at peace. Are you awake over there?” Rose’s voice is sharp, but Dave doesn’t let it cut him. He stares at her for a minute, then shuts his eyes and promptly starts snoring loudly. Roxy erupts into giggles, and Dirk snorts his approximation of a laugh.

“You are a child.” Rose’s voice is sharp still, but Dave can hear the edge of her smile and he returns it.

“A tired child,” he points out, letting his eyes close again and feeling the warm steam from his tea on his face. He sighs, one finger tracing the rim of the cup and dipping in and out of a slight dip in the china. No one speaks for a moment, until someone moves and fabric rustles. Dave cracks open his eyes- Dirk’s standing, leaning forward to put his cup down and gather up the rest of the tea set onto the platter.

“I’m going to bed,” he says, capping the teapot and ignoring Rose’s look in his direction. “Dave might as well too.”

“What happened to your insomnia?” Rose asks, and Dirk snorts again, raising a hand to his mouth to stifle the tired noises he’s making. “Oh, alright. Fine. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Dirk says, exiting without any more fanfare. Dave watches him go, hands warm from his cup and pointedly trying not to fidget with them anymore. The silence only lasts as long as it takes for Dirk’s footsteps to fade out, and then Roxy is huffing a sigh and standing to dispose of her tea things as well.

“Well, now that the life of the party is gone,” she begins, ignoring the scoff from Rose’s direction, “I’m off to bed as well. Dave, get some sleep. Rose, you too.”

“Yes, mother,” Rose quips, and Roxy simply laughs with her beautiful painted lips before pressing a kiss to Dave’s forehead again, then Rose’s despite her ducking some to avoid it. Dave never thought of Roxy as his mother-- even though she certainly stepped up to the role in the years after their mother died. Dave can’t remember his mother much. Queen Rosanna, beloved by the people and supposedly by her husband, but it was well-known that she went far before her time. Both Rose and Dave watch Roxy exit, and from there they just sit in quiet silence. Without speaking they know most of what’s going on in each other’s heads. Twin thing. Except now, apparently. Rose’s brow is creased and she looks concerned, staring down into her cup like it’s called her a witch.

“What do your tea leaves say?” Dave asks, voice low. It’s not a serious question, but Rose answers it honestly. She gets up, coming over to Dave’s chair with a gentle grace that he could never manage and scoots herself in beside him as much as she can manage. They sat like this often when they were young, and it makes Dave feel like a child all over again.

“I’m not quite sure,” she says, tipping the cup to let Dave look. “Here, it almost looks like an arrow, or perhaps a kite. It could mean many things, really.”

“What about mine?” Dave asks, peering down into his own cup where the last dregs of his tea remain. “It looks sort of… blobbish. What do blobs mean?”

“Blobs generally mean that someone is going to bed soon,” Rose teases, reaching up to flick his damp bang out of his face. “But look closer. What’s the blob’s shape? Is it a circle? A square? Rectangular?”

Dave took a second to actually look and pay attention. Rose was always more magically inclined than he-- she’d had her first vision at the tiny age of three. She’d predicted the death of one of the stable dogs and it had come true within the hour. From then on her life had been less physically focused than Dave’s and more academic and spiritual. Dave knew she’d studied hard and respected it, but sometimes the whole shebang seemed willy-nilly and soul-searchy to him. Rose’s predictions were the one thing he took seriously out of the whole bunch, even after she’d started seeing multiple versions of events and coming down with migraines. Current actions affected what she saw in the future, and their father used it to his advantage. Dave had definitely missed her influence out on the battlefield, but had quickly picked up a natural talent of his own to impact the tide of a battle. Tasseography wasn’t as accurate as her visions, sure, but Dave still trusted it more than he trusted any of the royal advisors and he is sure Dirk did as well.

“Maybe.. Pearish,” he finally says, lifting a hand to point at the blob. It was still a blob to him, but it sort of had a smaller top and rounder bottom. “Like the fruit.”

“Interesting,” Rose says, turning the cup a little bit to get a better angle of the pear. Yeah, now that he’s seeing it from the top down it definitely seems shaped like the fruit. Now he’s hungry. “Maybe you do have some talent after all.”

“What does that mean?” Dave asks, raising a brow a bit. Rose simply raises her brow right back at him and he lolls his head back in frustration, groaning at her. “Curse you, woman.”

“I think I’ll be the one cursing you, really.” Rose moves to get up from where she’d squished herself in with Dave, setting her cup down on the table with the rest of them and then taking his out of his hands. She peers down into it one last time before setting it down and then taking his hand and dragging him to his feet. He lets her, simply because he’s just fucking missed her so much in the past two years. He lets her lead him across the hall to her room, dark and candlelit and filled to the brim with books and tomes of all sorts. He knows his room has had to be dusted off and the sheets torn away by now, the doorknobs replaced and fireplace crackling, but he figures this is much better. Sleeping comes easier with a warm body beside his, so there are no complaints made as Rose guides him into bed and then joins him. For the thousandth time today, Dave feels like he’s five again and Rose and him are drowsily trading secrets and stories in their shared bedroom until they both fall asleep.


End file.
